Silver Lining
by Azkabella
Summary: AU - Clara doesn't survive after she jumps into the Doctor's time stream. Years later, the Doctor is travelling alone when he's stranded in one of the bleakest moments in human history. It was the last place he ever hoped to see her again.
1. The Companion

**Author's Notes**: This is something I will later expand on, but it's been bouncing in my head for ages now and I needed to get something posted because I'm in a bit of a fic-writing rut. Hopefully this will help me out, and everyone enjoys it!

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There was no bleaker time in Earth's history than the thirty-seventh century. Nations like the United Kingdom, which had once led the world in politics and economics, collapsed into third world conditions. Governments were ruled by dictators or strict oligarchies, and order was maintained by military rule. This wouldn't last for long—there was no holding the British down—but for a good fifty years, Britain (and more specifically London) was one of the most derelict and overcrowded cities in the world.

And now, the Doctor was stuck there.

He had been tinkering with the HADS again before he parked the TARDIS in a dangerous part of London. He had only stepped out for a few moments when the explosions started, and the power from the first blast knocked the Doctor off his feet and caused his ears to ring so powerfully that he feared he might go deaf, but underneath that ear-splitting sound and the shouts and screams of people running to safety, he could hear the groaning of the TARDIS engines as it dematerialised to somewhere safe.

The Doctor checked himself into a pathetic excuse for a hotel in East London later that evening. All he needed was a bath and a good rest before starting his journey towards the North Pole, which was where the TARDIS had rematerialized, according to the readings on his sonic screwdriver. Luckily he wasn't too far away this time. He thought of Clara and their long journey from the Arctic to the South Pole the last time the HADS had separated him from the TARDIS, and the memory of her smile caused an ache in his chest that was so profound that it brought tears to his eyes.

Outside his bathroom window, he could hear the distant wail of sirens and the chatter of people walking on the street below. The faucet dripped loudly into his bath water while someone in the room above his moaned and screamed loudly through the floor. If it weren't for the accompanying rhythm of the bedsprings, the Doctor would worry that someone was being murdered.

He towelled off, redressed, and then for a long time stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face he'd worn for centuries was somehow rendered unrecognisable, as if it belonged to a completely different man. Not for the first time, the Doctor wondered what the point of his life was, and why he continued carrying on when he had nothing to live for. Everyone he had ever loved was gone.

He had forgotten about his intention to sleep until after he'd already buttoned his waistcoat and straightened his bow tie. He stood in the bathroom doorway and stared dully at the sharp angles of the shadows cast by the streetlight just outside the window and imagined them turning and shifting when the sun eventually rose, and wondered if he'd still be standing there. Perhaps sleep wasn't even an option for him anymore.

He placed his face in his hands and rubbed his tired eyes, but couldn't even muster up the energy to heave a sigh. He was so alone.

A series of three sharp knocks rapped at the door. The Doctor raised his head from his hands and stared at the door in consternation before striding towards it and peering through the peep hole. An icy hand clenched his hearts and he stood there in silence for so long that she knocked again, causing him to jump back from the door in alarm. The sensible part of his brain told him he was imagining things, but still his fingers fumbled with the lock at the door.

The Doctor flung the door open and met her eyes, his lips parted in surprise while hers curved into an alluring grin. Her dark hair was curled in thick ringlets and her lips were painted a deep shade of red, neither of which distracted from the low-cut black dress that clung to her figure like a second skin.

Clara Oswald was supposed to be dead, but there she stood like a gift the universe had left on his doorstep.

"You going to invite me in?" she asked after a good five seconds of his staring.

The Doctor blinked once, twice, and then mutely stepped aside so she could enter. His eyes never left her as she strolled into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. It was only when his mouth felt dry that he realised it was hanging open.

"Lock the door; I don't want to be interrupted," she said simply, as if popping into his hotel room was some sort of routine.

And as the Doctor shut the door and turned the lock, he realised why. This wasn't his Clara. Of course it wasn't; she had died when she jumped into his time stream. This was one of her echoes… and she was a prostitute.

It was as common to receive a visit from prostitute in a thirty-seventh century hotel as it was to receive one from the cleaning staff, something the Doctor had heard about but never actually experienced first hand. Looking at Clara now, he saw neither the glamorous call girl nor the filthy street walker that he had imagined. Instead, he saw the ghost of a woman he'd once cared for. Her dark stockings and impossibly high heeled shoes, the snugness of her dress, the coal black eyeliner surrounding her eyes; all of this masked the signs of malnutrition and sadness that ate away at a person's soul. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as a horrible ache consumed his chest.

She smiled incredulously at him. "You gonna sit down or what?"

He slowly made his way over to the bed and sank onto the edge of it, keeping a good two feet of space between them. Clara leaned back on her hands and peered up at him through her eyelashes.

"You got a name?" she asked.

He looked away from her and shook his head.

"That's OK," she purred, scooting closer to him. "I'll think of something to call you."

She leaned her head against his shoulder and the Doctor closed his eyes, unsure of how much more of this he could bear or why he was even bearing it at all. He felt her fingers trail along the inseam of his trousers, but when her palm came to rest between his legs, his eyes snapped open and he pushed her hand away.

She chuckled with amusement. "Ooh. Bit shy to start, are we? That's OK." She straddled his lap and looped her arms around his neck, making it impossible for him to look away. He tried. "I like your hair," she said, running her fingers through the messy locks he hadn't even bothered to comb after his bath. "And you've got a handsome face. Don't see many of those around here."

"What do you see?" he asked with concern, finally finding his voice.

She shrugged lightly and lowered her eyes between them, her back arching seductively as she slid her fingers down his shoulders. "Nothing for you to worry you lovely little head about." She laced her fingers through his and raised them up to shoulder level, her eyes fixed on his lips. "What about me?" she asked in a silky, almost pouty tone. "See anything you like?"

He could only stare at her mutely as she placed one of his hands on her thigh and moved the other to her left breast. His hearts were thrumming wildly and thoughts were screaming in his head, but the shock of seeing her again and in such a state had rendered him practically catatonic.

"I'm sure we'll find something," she purred, urging him to palm her breast and move his other hand up her thigh.

The Doctor's eyelids felt heavy as she writhed against him, dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she bit her lower lip and let her head fall back to display her long neck. He couldn't control his reaction to her, but when he fully realised what was happening, he shook his head to rouse himself from his stupor and removed his hands from her body.

His voice was shaky when he spoke. "Clara, please…"

Clara's head snapped back up. "What did you say?" She leapt from his lap and took a few steps backwards, eyes round and terrified. "What did you just call me?"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, sensing her alarm.

She'd gone from sultry seductress to cornered rabbit in the blink of an eye. "Are you police? Because I'm registered - you can check with the agency!"

He stood from the bed and raised his hands in a placating manner. "I'm not the police, I promise."

She took another step back, her face contorting with panic as she gave him a once over. "How do you know my name? Who told you my name? How did you know I would be here?"

"I didn't know," he said, taking a hesitant step towards her. "I would never have come here had I thought that you… Believe me, I didn't know, Clara. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Stop saying my name!" she shouted breathlessly, covering her ears as if she could stop everything by blocking out the sound of his voice.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and continued to stare at her. Her eyes never left his, out of suspicion and fear more than anything else, but he could swear he saw a hint of recognition there. It was likely he was imagining it because he wanted her to remember, but there was a part of him that refused to give up hope.

"I'm not the police," he restated calmly once she'd calmed down. "I don't want to hurt you, Cl—"

She sucked in an anxious breath and took another step back. He released a sigh and closed his eyes.

"I'm a friend."

Clara shook her head adamantly, eyes never leaving his. "I don't know you. I've never seen you before in my life."

"Not this life."

She laughed bitterly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Feeling the hopelessness of this situation weigh down on him, the Doctor lowered his face to his hands and released a shaky breath. He tried to remind himself that this wasn't Clara, but rather a girl who shared her name and face and certain aspects of her personality. She didn't have the real Clara's memories, she wouldn't remember him or anything they'd been through together. That Clara was gone.

But she was all that was left. He couldn't save his Clara, but he would do whatever he could to save this one.

She was still standing there when he lifted his face from his hands. He'd half expected her to run out the door, but then she had been scattered across his timeline to save him, so she must be there for a reason… one that had nothing to do with what she did for a living.

"This is the last place I ever wanted to find you," he told her. "No," he corrected quickly, glancing away. "I suppose the Dalek asylum was worse. But this," he waved his hand about the room, "this is no place for you."

She continued to hold herself, shrinking into the corner of the room like a frightened animal.

"You needn't be afraid; I won't harm you." _No more than I already have_. She didn't move or say anything. "If you're so scared, then why haven't you left the room?"

Her answer was reluctant. "I can't afford to."

"How do you mean?"

The Doctor saw the threat he posed diminishing in her eyes as she regarded him curiously. She stepped away from the corner, arms still hugging her chest despite relaxing visibly. "I haven't put in enough time this month. I need the money. I can't afford to lose this job."

He didn't know how to respond. Seeing her in such a desperate state filled him with throat-constricting guilt, and he swallowed roughly as he imagined how many hours she spent in rooms like this, seducing strangers who touched her like she was some treat from the minibar that helped them pass the time. He was desperate to hold her, to touch her in a way that would comfort her and not just appease his own longing, but he feared upsetting her or scaring her away.

"What if you could?" he asked.

"Could what?"

"Afford to lose this job. What if you could leave here and never come back?"

It was dark, but he could hear her faint laugh and see the roll of her eyes. "Please don't do the whole 'I can take you away from all this' speech. I've met your type before."

He took an eager step forward. "But I can. You don't remember me, Clara, but I'm your friend. We've travelled together before. We can go anywhere we want and never have to step foot in this horrible place or time again."

She shook her head at him. "You're barking."

In an act of daring, he closed the space between them and took both of her hands in his. Clara gasped and jumped back, but didn't put much effort into retracting her hands. She met his eyes and he saw it again—that flash of recognition. He wasn't imagining it.

"I never understood it before, but I can see it now," he said, a grin tugging on one corner of his lips. "You don't understand it either, but you trust me. I know you think I'm mad, and you are absolutely right, but there's a part of you that knows who I am. Please listen to it."

He knew he was getting to her because she was starting to breathe heavily with emotion. Her features seemed to glow with hope at what he was saying, and he marvelled at how beautiful she was.

"Who are you?" she asked, seemingly in awe of him.

He brought her hands to his chest and held them there, twin heartbeats pulsing beneath her palms. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

His face lit up with a massive grin and he laughed. She tensed when he bowed down and engulfed her in a hug, but after a moment she hesitantly wrapped her arms around his waist and relaxed in his embrace.

Clara had jumped into his time stream to save him, but now she wasn't alone. This time, he was going to save her too.


	2. Jasmine

He was vaguely aware of the lock clicking before Clara launched herself into his arms, her lips covering his in a kiss that he hadn't anticipated. His eyes flew wide open and his hands instinctively wrapped around her so she wouldn't fall, but he removed them hastily because he shouldn't be kissing her…She shouldn't be kissing him… _Why_ were they kissing?

The door opened and a burly man with closely cropped hair appeared at the threshold, a severe look in his eyes as he stared at them both. Clara tore her lips away and glanced over her shoulder at him, balancing on her toes as she slid down the Doctor's body.

"Alright, Jas?" said the man.

"What are you doing?" she replied crossly. "We were in the middle of something."

The man set his eyes on the Doctor, but spoke to Clara. "Gunther says there was suspicious activity in this room. Thought you might be in danger."

"Gunther is an idiot," she retorted, still cross. The Doctor could feel her heart racing against his chest. "Tell him thanks for his concern, but I'm more than fine."

"You sure?" The man still hadn't taken his eyes off the Doctor.

"_Yes,"_ Clara reiterated. "Would you mind locking the door behind you? We would appreciate not being interrupted again."

With a nod, the man nodded once and glanced at her briefly before backing out the door. "Take it easy, Jas."

The door locked behind him. The Doctor stood there in silence before glancing back down at Clara, who was staring thoughtfully at his chest. "What was that?"

She frowned. "Security. If they see suspicious activity in a room they send someone up. Don't want any of us getting hurt." She laughed bitterly, then looked up at him with wide eyes. She drew his head back towards hers and spoke into his ear. "Gunther must be listening. He's seen men do worse to me, but must have heard you threaten to take me away."

His hands fell to her waist protectively at the mention of men causing her harm. "Whose Gunther?"

"Head of security. He watches the footage of all the rooms the companions visit, making sure nothing's out of order." She released a huff of frustration. "He's particular about me."

The Doctor sighed and raised a hand to the back of her head, hugging her to him. She was a prisoner in this place, almost like a slave. Sure, she was paid, but only in exchange for being a kept girl who catered to the wanton desires of the men who stayed her. If this Clara was anything like the original, this wasn't a life she chose willingly.

_No_, he thought. _This was a life_ you _chose for her when you got yourself stuck here._

It was his timeline she'd followed; if he'd never set foot in this time or place, then she would never have lived this life, never been reduced to what she was, although arguably prostitutes had it better off than the majority of the population. They were relatively well-cared for, whereas most people of this time were starving and without work.

"Do you really think you can get me out of here?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He tightened his hold on her. "Yes. I promise you, I will."

She took a deep breath, released it, and then shoved him back towards the bed with surprising strength. He stared up at her in alarm as he landed on his back.

"Clara, what—"

"Shut up," she said, crawling on top of him.

Her mouth covered his, her fingers running through his hair as she writhed on top of him. The Doctor hummed in protest, fidgeting helplessly as he struggled to figure out what to do.

"Gunther's watching," she breathed against his cheek. He gasped when her hot breath moved to the shell of his ear. "If I'm not working, he'll reassign me to another room."

"By… by _working_, you mean…?"

"Sex, yes."

"Ah… Right… _Ah, ha ha_!" he laughed weakly, sucking in a breath when she nibbled at his earlobe. "Couldn't we just… talk? You called yourself a companion. Don't you ever get clients who just want to talk?"

She shook her head and looked down at him. "It's not that sort of place." She smiled faintly and touched his face, her motions stalling. "You are rather shy, aren't you?"

"What? Me?" he squeaked.

She chuckled softly as he cleared his throat. Her expression softened afterwards, smile waning as she stroked his cheek with his thumb. "You were right," she said. "There's something about you… Something that keeps telling me I should trust you. What is it?" she asked apprehensively.

The Doctor didn't know how to answer her. He licked his lips before replying, "Instinct. Your… your past, your history…" He shut his eyes and released a sigh.

Explaining this wouldn't be easy.

Luckily, he supposed, he wasn't given the chance to speak further. Clara returned her lips to his, this time kissing him slowly, softly, all while shifting to where her body pressed firmly into his.

"Clara…"

"We've got to or they'll send Carver back."

"Carver?" he asked between kisses. "That the gentleman who burst in?" She nodded against his lips. "He called you Jas. Is that how you're known here?"

He was almost getting used to all of the kissing, but his body remained tense under hers. He wasn't sure he could control his reaction to her for much longer.

"I'm Jasmine here," she explained, lips moving against his. "All the girls are named after flowers, the boys Greek gods." She snorted lightly at that. "No one's supposed to know our real names."

He hummed softly as she returned her mouth to his, tongue slipping past his lips. He withdrew his head as far back as the bed would allow him.

She laughed softly, grinning down at him while lacing her fingers through his and gently pinning his hands to the mattress. "What's the matter?"

"I can't do this."

She looked between them, a grin curling on her lips. "Certain parts of you would disagree."

His cheeks felt like the were sunburnt. "That's not… I-I don't mean…"

"What is it, then? I know it's not me. You selected my type when you checked in."

"I – what?"

She regarded him curiously. "When you checked in, on the form? There's the section regarding companions. You selected a petite female, brown hair… The specific request was for a tight dress and someone who was 'a little bit bossy.'" She grinned. "That made me like you a little bit."

"But I didn't fill out a…" He glanced to where his jacket was draped across the back of the armchair near the window. "Oh, psychic paper."

"Psychic what?"

"Psychic paper. I flashed it to the clerk when I asked for a room. He did ask for a better look at it, now that you mention it…" He met her eyes and swallowed, speaking his next words without considering what they meant. "I must have been thinking about you."

She stared at him, blinking softly as she studied him. "How could you think of me when you've never even met me?" She breathed a little laugh. "What is going on?"

He raised a hand to the side of her head, his thumb resting against her cheek while his fingertips laced through her dark hair. "I'll explain everything, I promise. It might not make much sense…" He sighed. "But first, we've got to get out of here."

He sat up, forcing her to do the same, and leaned back on his palms. He tried to ignore how the shift in angle had pressed his near erection into her, instead focusing on scanning the room, all the while imagining the layout of the building.

Clara blinked at him, staring with shock. "W-What? No, we can't…"

He placed his hands at her waist and gently directed her to move off him so he could leap from the bed, his formerly exhausted body now thrumming with energy. He grabbed his jacket from the chair while Clara scrambled clumsily off the bed towards him, her thin heels catching on the bedspread.

She grabbed his wrist before he could fling his jacket behind him and slide it on. "Doctor, we can't."

"Of course we can," he replied, following her lead and speaking softly. "If we're going to leave, we might as well get going now."

"Sit down right now," she said through gritted teeth, her chest heaving with shallow, nervous breaths.

Eying her curiously, he sank into the chair and she straddled his lap again. He opened his mouth to protest but she leaned into his ear to explain the situation.

"Blokes have tried to take us away before, OK?" she told him, voice shaking. "Bad things happened to them. They always get caught, Doctor. _Please_… don't make me watch them hurt you."

He swallowed hard and nodded. "Then what do we do?"

She bowed her head against his neck and took a few deep breaths of relief while she thought about it. He heard her lick her lips before she returned to his ear. "We wait until the morning when I can go home. You check out afterwards, then meet me."

"Right, sounds like a plan. Good, good." He tapped his fingers against the armrests. "Dare I ask what we do until then?"

"Well, like I said. They reassign me if I'm not working."

He felt all the blood rush from the face. "So you'd… you mean they'd expect you to… _All night?"_

She started giggling, the sound achingly familiar. "Usually the request is put in beforehand, but… I've spent the night a few times, yeah." She leaned back and smiled at him, obviously still amused. "And most of the time we sleep."

He nodded. "Good. Sleep is good. So we can just go to sleep, then?" he asked hopefully.

"You desperately don't want to have sex with me, don't you?"

He glanced away from her and found himself nodding. "I would rather not, yes."

She leaned back a little, shoulders slumping. "Well, that's a first."

"No, no," he said hurriedly, touching her arms. "It's not you, I just… I'd just rather not."

"Then what exactly am I supposed to do with you, then? There's got to be something."

His hearts started racing. He understood what she meant—this was a tricky situation. He didn't want some thuggish bloke to take her away and reassign her to another room where someone else would…. But then, he knew he couldn't touch her like this. Not in these circumstances. Not when he barely knew who she was and she didn't know him.

He ignored the fact that there were a limited set of conditions that prevented him from sleeping with her, as if there absence meant he'd take her without a second thought.

"We could… We could do the kissing again. That should work, shouldn't it?" he said hopefully.

He didn't mind the kissing. In fact, he rather liked the kissing, even though he still felt guilty and uncomfortable and like he was taking advantage of the situation. Clara stared at him silently and he lifted his eyebrows, worried she was going to suggest something else.

"Eh? Kissing?" he prompted.

She smiled softly. "Yeah. I think I can make that work."

He instantly regretted the decision when she leaned forward and covered his mouth with hers, their lips separating with a soft smack as she lightly brushed against him. He'd always wondered what it would feel like to kiss her again, that episode with the snowmen not having been his finest moment. The past several minutes of her snogging him relentlessly had been nice, but the way she touched him now was different somehow, more personal. Almost like she knew who it was she was kissing.

Or perhaps it was because he was now kissing her back.

He wasn't paying attention to what he was doing anymore, his hands rising of their own accord to tangle in the soft curls falling past her shoulders. She slid her tongue against his and he moaned softly, and she rose and fell against him in a smooth, sensual motion that reawoke every particle of his being.

Soon she was moving firmly against him, small gasps escaping her lips as he breathed heavily against her chin. Even through the layers that separated them, he could feel her—he wanted her.

Luckily he didn't have time to do anything about it.

He leaned forward suddenly, arms wrapping tightly around her as he released a deep, pathetic cry into her ear. His eyes slammed shut and he caught his breath as she held onto him, her body still against his. He opened his eyes and then sat back, staring at her with horror.

"Well… That takes care of that, then," she said in an even tone. "I suppose you'll want to wash up."

She stood from his lap and he stared down at his trousers, feeling betrayed by his own body and also grateful that he'd stopped before getting carried away with her. He felt ashamed of himself for letting it go as far as it had, shame that was evident on his face as he stood.

"Don't worry about it," she said sweetly as he brushed past her towards the bathroom. "Happens to me all the time."

He couldn't look back at her. Instead, he shut the bathroom door and cleaned himself off, eyes slamming shut as he then braced himself against the bathroom wall and heaved a sigh.

Half an hour ago he'd been alone, and Clara Oswald had been gone from his life forever. Now she'd found a way back and it wasn't her, not really, and he was foolish to pretend like he'd gotten her back.

"It's not her," he told himself. "You know it doesn't work like that. It's not her."

He walked out of the bathroom to find her lying curled up on the bed, her head pressed against the pillow. Her eyes opened when he came in and she smiled softly. "Hope you don't mind me making myself comfortable."

He shook his head. "No, no, of course. You just… you have a rest."

"Aren't you going to join me?"

His cheeks flushed.

"Don't be such a boy," she teased tiredly. "Overnighters usually go for a snuggle at the very least."

Nodding, he removed his bow tie and dropped it on the nightstand, then unbuttoned his waistcoat and lowered it to the floor. He didn't usually sleep in his shirt and trousers, but he wasn't about to take any more clothes off, save for his socks and shoes. He discarded them next to the bed before climbing in beside her.

She smiled at him and he felt himself smiling back as he settled against his pillow. A voice repeated his words from earlier—_it's not her_—but he ignored it in favor of looking into her eyes.

"I've missed you," he said without thinking.

She sighed. "You said I travelled with you once."

"I did."

"Travelled where?"

She'd sidestepped the obvious question of "how" and declaration of "you're insane" in favor for a question that was much more Clara. It instilled him with hope and broke his heart in equal measure.

"Oh, everywhere," he said with curling lips, leaning forward slightly. "We travelled across the stars, visiting distance planets and moons and places outside of this time. I took you to Akhaten to see the Festival of Offerings, and then…" He thought back on his history with Clara and frowned at the next several places that came to mind. "Well, we got stuck on a submarine during the Cold War, but that was an accident… We were on our way to Vegas. Then we visited a spooky old house on the moors where we saw a ghost! Well, a sort of ghost. Then, well, some things happened… But after that we visited Victorian Yorkshire—which was actually sort of rubbish and somewhere I wouldn't recommend visiting again. Ah! But then we visited Hedgewick's World… and, well, there may have been some Cyber-Men there…. Right… But we had fun!" he assured her.

She giggled, perplexed by all he was saying but amused at how flustered he grew. "Then what?"

He could only stare back at her. He would have to tell her, to explain what happened, but he couldn't bear to think of it, let alone say the words out loud. He'd already repeated those moments over and over again in his mind, both during his waking and sleeping hours. He wasn't ready to do it again.

"Doctor?"

"We should get some sleep."

"Oh. OK." She considered him for a moment. "Would you like to hold me?"

"Yes, please," he replied pathetically, his voice mere breath as he reached for her.

Clara scooted forward and laid her head against his chest, her arms wrapping around him as he clung to her desperately. He was near weeping, his breaths heavy and shaky against her hair as she sighed into him. She didn't say anything.

It was like she already understood.


	3. The Warning

The sun was just starting to peak through the curtains when she awoke. Clara sighed tiredly, her back arching into the man behind her as she stretched her aching bones. She waited for him to stir after feeling the shift, but he continued to breathe softly into her hair with his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. Staring down at his hand, she recalled the events from the night before and felt an odd panic stir in her chest, one that was born more from excitement than anxiety.

Though, to be fair, he'd stirred a lot of anxiety in her as well.

She had never had anyone recognise her at work before, least of all a man she had no recollection of ever meeting or even passing on the street. There was something oddly familiar about him though, like she'd known since she was a child. That sense of innocent trust clung to him in the most inviting way.

That alone should mark him as dangerous.

She didn't know if Gunther or one of the other security boys would still be watching, so she had to be careful of what she said and did before leaving. She hadn't been lying the night before when she'd told the Doctor that bad things had happened to men who'd tried to take girls away. Another one of the girls she often chatted with, Heather, had once tried to run away with a man who visited the hotel regularly. He'd always asked for her, and since many of the girls had regulars, it didn't raise any red flags.

They barely made it into the lobby before Carver and the other beefcake security guards got their hands on them. They were physically dragged into the nearest empty room where the man was beaten within an inch of his life and Heather was punished as all the girls were usually punished. Clara had seen the man's body when it was taken away, barely breathing, and Heather wouldn't talk to her or anyone for a month afterwards. When she finally did tell Clara what had happened, it was with tearful bitterness that she warned her never to think for one second that she could escape this life. "You're stuck here until they kill you."

Glancing at the nightstand, Clara did another stretch, this time extending her arms so that her hand brushed against the pad of paper sitting there. It would be too obvious if she grabbed that as well as the pen she now clutched in her hand, so Clara returned back to her original position with a sigh while she planned her next move.

She could wake him, but she worried about him trying to follow her. That was the ultimate plan, but he didn't strike her as one for subtlety. If they were going to do this, he would need to meet her somewhere safe. Unfortunately, there was only one place she felt was safe for them to meet.

She lifted the sleeve away from his arm and discreetly wrote her address in tidy letters across his skin, hoping he noticed it before hopping in the bath or putting on his coat. She smiled lightly to herself as a little voice reminded her that while he lacked subtlety, he was clever enough to notice the little things.

Clara frowned. She was still slightly rattled by how she could know things like that.

Turning in his arms, she half-expected him to open his eyes and smile at her, but his features remained relaxed and closed off as he breathed softly in his sleep. He looked deep into it, like he hadn't slept for weeks and was just now catching up.

Blinking rapidly, Clara gently cradled the back of his head and kissed his forehead, smiling when he grunted lightly in his sleep. "Please be careful," she murmured against his skin before peeling back the comforter and crawling out of the bed.

She made sure to drop the pen back on the nightstand and hoped no one was watching closely enough to notice. She cast a look over her shoulder at the Doctor's sleeping form before quietly opening the door and stepping out into the hall, turning towards the door to close it softly so as not to wake him.

When she turned back around, Carver was standing in front of her, his eyes severe. "Alright, Jas?"

She gasped in surprise and covered her heart. "My stars… You scared me."

He regarded her silently for a moment. "There's a morning request for a companion in Room 12. Gunther wants you to cover it before you leave."

Her heart sped up. "But I just got off."

"He says you got a good night's sleep, so there shouldn't be a problem."

She understood the warning in that message clearly enough. Pressing her lips together, Clara nodded and then walked past Carver towards Room 12. She looked back at the Doctor's room to find Carver still standing there, his eyes on the door. After a moment, he turned and walked in the opposite direction down the hall, which was when Clara knocked on the door to Room 12.

The man who answered was rough, his grip bruising as his teeth bit into her skin. He pinned her down to the bed and beat into her, slapping her repeatedly on the arse while he growled in her ear that he was going to tear her apart. She didn't usually cry when men got rough with her, not since her early days in working for the hotel, but when his arm wrapped around her neck and he leaned into her from behind, Clara wept with hope that this was the last time she would ever allow a man to touch her like this.

Clara was gone when he awoke, and the first thing that realisation brought him was panic. Had something happened to her? Had she even been there in the first place, or had she just been a product of his sleep-deprived and lonely mind?

When he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he noticed the cuff of his sleeve had been unbuttoned and there was something scrawled along the inside of his arm. He pulled the sleeve back to find an address written across his skin, the handwriting familiar. He went into the bathroom and washed the ink from his skin before dressing and walking out the door.

He checked out in the lobby, giving the woman at the desk his room key before exiting the hotel and walking down the road. Clara's flat was, if his knowledge of post World War V London was up to snuff, just a few blocks away. He turned the corner and smiled lightly to himself as he thought of her face when she opened the door for him, but a large fist knocked the smile clean from his face.

The Doctor staggered backwards in shock, arms swinging at his sides as he struggled to correct his balance. A big, burly man was in front of him, almost a good six inches taller than he was, and he had an unforgiving look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said lightly. "Is this_ your _part of the pavement? Oh!" Two strong hands grabbed him by the elbows and restrained his arms his behind his back painfully. He glanced back and then up at the man in front of him, a nervous smile on his lips. "I guess now's not a good time for cheek."

The man stepped forward and grabbed him roughly by the chin. "You've got a big chin."

"So I've been told."

He bit back a cry of pain when the man's fist collided with his cheek. He could feel the skin split and immediately start to swell. Another blow followed that one, this one feeling like it fractured his jaw, his teeth tearing into the inside of his mouth. The man backhanded him twice on the other side of his face, and the Doctor spat blood onto the pavement when he finally relented. He stared at blood for a moment before glancing back up at his attacker.

He was met with a steely gaze before the man finally said, "You're not invited back here. Stay away from our girls."

The final blow was a rough knee to the groin. The Doctor blacked out for a moment, overwhelmed with nauseating pain that radiated to his every nerve ending. The man who'd been holding him back pushed him to the ground where he groaned and gasped in pain, his assailants' footsteps shuffling along the footpath before disappearing around the corner.

Eventually he pushed up off the ground and scooted back so that he was sitting up against the brick wall of the hotel, chest heaving sharply as he took deep breaths to recuperate.

"Right," he said raggedly to himself. "Thirty-seventh century London. Definitely not a fan of the local charm."

He feared what might have happened to Clara after receiving that little message from her employers. He hoped she'd made it back home, but worried now about being followed on his way to meet her at the address she'd left on his arm.

He wandered around for a bit, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure he wasn't being followed. When he finally reached the address, it was one of several tall, high rise buildings on the block that were common in cramped, overcrowded cities like this. He ascended the staircase to the fourth floor, room number six, the sound of a screaming baby and muffled TV noise echoing through the thin walls as his shoes tapped against the steps.

An elderly woman with a double-barrelled shotgun was sitting in a folding chair next to room eight. She cocked it and aimed it at his head. "If you're here for Clara, you'd better turn around."

"What?" was all he could think to say, his hands raising up in surrender as he stared at the twin barrels pointed between his eyes.

"Don't play stupid. I've put bullets in two boys before you, and I'll put a bullet in you."

"No no no no, you've got it all wrong. I'm not… I don't want to hurt her."

The door next to him opened and Clara appeared, hugging a loose cardigan tightly to her chest as she stepped into the hall. Her face was scrubbed free of the makeup from the night before and her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her legs covered in grey sweatpants. "Grinda, it's OK. He's a friend."

"I didn't think you had any friends," the woman called Grinda replied, eyes still on the Doctor.

"Thanks," Clara said dully. "Made a new one. Put the gun down, please."

Grinda did so and nodded once at the Doctor. "Sorry."

"No, no," he said airily, his hearts still racing.

Clara stepped towards him and lifted her hand to his cheek, touching right underneath where his skin had split. He hissed through his teeth and she withdrew her hand, her expression unreadable. "Did anyone follow you?"

"No, I was careful."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She glanced at Grinda with a faint smile before taking his hand and leading him into her flat. The Doctor barely had enough time to glance around at the cement shoebox they were in before she instructed for him to sit on the edge of the bed against the wall. He did so with a shaky gasp of pain. Sitting wouldn't be pleasant for a while.

"I see they gave you a warning," she said, turning on the tap at the sink not three feet away from where he was sitting. The room was long, narrow, and barely big enough for a miniature kitchenette, a twin bed, and a wardrobe next to the refrigerator. The jutting of wall at the head of the bead hinted that there was a small bathroom in the corner of the flat, but that was about it.

"I guess you could call it that."

She wrung out a rag and padded back towards him, her features softening as she stood at his knees. "Look up for me."

He lifted his face towards hers, eyes locking on her as she focused on cleaning the wound on his cheek. It must have been bloodier than he thought, because she dragged the wet cloth against his skin for a long time. She sighed tiredly, the collar of her cardigan shifting to where he could see dark bruises forming on her neck.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked in a soft voice.

Clara blinked once and shook her head. He could tell it was a lie, a practised one, but she shifted away when he lifted his hand to her collar. He watched her back as she rinsed the blood from the rag, eyes following her to the refrigerator when she opened the freezer door.

She cradled the side of his head with her left hand when she returned and then pressed a cold ice pack to his cheek. She pulled back when he winced at the sudden pressure and the intense cold. "Sorry. I'll see if I've got another clean rag."

She disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a small serviette that she wrapped around the ice pack. She was walking funny.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, muttering in pain when she applied pressure to his cheek again. The rag kept the cold from being too biting.

She met his eyes briefly. "I'll be OK. More worried about you."

He lifted his hand to the one she hand pressed against the ice pack. She removed her hand and he sighed, gaze lowering. "No, I've been through worse. Although…" He glanced up at her sheepishly before scooting back slightly on the mattress so he could lower the icepack between his legs.

Clara sat on the bed next to him and glanced at the placement of the icepack before looking at his face. "I'm so sorry."

"This isn't your fault."

"They hurt you because of me."

"They hurt me because they're thugs who're afraid I'm trying to take something that belongs to them."

Tears dripped from her eyes and she bowed her head shamefully. "I'm sorry," she said, hastily scrubbing her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to this."

"Used to what?"

"Caring about someone else."

Those words echoed in the silence that followed. He felt his chest swell and his own eyes burn with tears as she stared at the floor, but he reigned it in as best he could. Clara suffered a lonely, miserable existence that wouldn't be made better by him weeping over it.

"Do you still want to leave?"

"Yes," she quickly replied in a whisper, eyes flying to his. "Yes."

"What do you need?"

He glanced around the flat, noticing things he hadn't before. It was cramped and shabby, but colourful—the curtains were a deep shade of indigo and the bedspread was a golden yellow, covered in tiny red flowers. Books were crammed into the narrow bookshelf next to the wardrobe, atop of which were stacked even more piles of books.

"I don't know," she replied. "Where are we going?"

"North Pole."

"_The North Pole_?"

He chuckled at the incredulity in her tone. "Yeah, the TARDIS ran away from me again. Had I any foresight, I would have set it to where I could summon her with my key, but you know me…" She stared at him with confusion and he frowned. "Well. You did."

She considered him thoughtfully, eyes raking over his face as the wheels turned in her head. "I want to go with you, but you have to understand… I'm not her. I can tell you want me to be, but I'm not."

"No, no," he said gruffly, shaking his head as he took her hand. She didn't try to pull away. "I know. I may need reminding, but even so… you _are_ part of who she was. Like an echo."

She sighed patiently as if she were accustomed to people spouting such nonsense at her. "How am I an echo?"

He smiled lightly. "Why was Grinda ready to shoot me?"

She frowned at the change of subject and stared at the floor. "She saw me come in earlier looking a bit worse for wear. She guessed a long time ago what it is I do. She worries." A strong emotion passed over her features and she blinked rapidly, willing it away. "Erm… I'd really like to have a shower before we go. We are going soon, yeah?"

He nodded. "As soon as you're ready."

"What about you? Haven't you got clothes or anything you need to fetch?"

He held up his arms, indicating he had everything he needed with him. "I travel light."

She gave him a funny look. "What, you're just gonna wear that?"

He sat up primly and puffed out his chest. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing." She pressed her nose to his shoulder and sniffed. "Smells a bit funny."

"Yeah, well," he grumbled. "It could probably do with a good cleaning. So could I, come to mention. I don't suppose I could use your shower after you've finished?"

She bit her lip. "I only get one unit of hot water a day."

"Oh. That a no, then?"

She shrugged. "You could join me."

"What, in the shower? N-Naked?"

"We could both use the hot water and it would save time. Aren't we in a hurry?"

He could tell by the look on her face that he'd gone pink all over. "I don't… I-I think I can manage another day or two."

She laughed softly, bowing her head before glancing back up at him with a smile. "You really are rather funny."

"So you keep saying."

She lifted her hand to the back of his head, searching his face curiously as she stroked his hair. "Should I be afraid of you?"

He swallowed, unsure of which was the honest answer. "No."

"Good. 'Cause I'm not."

He felt that twinge in his hearts again. _I need to know you feel safe._ "May I hug you, Clara?"

She breathed a little laugh and met his eyes. "I appreciate the courtesy, but you don't have to ask permission for things like that. You could just hug me."

"But what if I hug you and you don't want me to?"

"Then I'll push you away. It's not that complicated." She gave him a funny look when he didn't move. "You gonna do it or what?"

He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her to his chest with a sigh. He placed his chin on top of her head and smiled when her arms curled around his body.

"They've got aircrafts that'll take us to the North Pole at the one of the airports outside of the city," he told her. "If we can get there soon, we might make the afternoon flight."

She leaned back and looked up at him. "OK. But after I get out of the shower, you're explaining why we're going to the North Pole. And what a TARDIS is."

He grinned and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She tapped him on the nose with a knowing smile and stood from the bed. "Ah, see. There it is again."

"What?"

"Why you like me_._"

He grinned. "Why's that?"

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder as she grabbed some clean clothes from her wardrobe. "'Cause I'm bossy."

He chuckled. She shut the bathroom door behind her and he listened as she shuffled around before the water came on. The Doctor stood with a grunt of pain and lifted the ice pack to face, his eyes taking everything in.

Despite what little he knew of her life, the Doctor still saw his Clara screaming from every detail in the room. Few people knew how to read during this time, but she had stacks of books crammed into a corner; her favourite pastime. Looking in her wardrobe, he dragged his hands along the dresses and shirts and noticed that everything was handmade, probably by her. He was sure that if he looked in one of the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe or in one of the boxes under the bed he'd find bits of fabric and sewing tools.

There was part of him that wondered if there was a way to reach his Clara, if her original memories and personality were somehow trapped somewhere in her brain. He had a feeling they were, which was why she had that residual awareness of him. If she would let him, he could try to access those memories and unlock them, but he wondered if that would be for the best. Two lives might be too much for her, and he couldn't imagine his Clara would be too happy to wake up and realise what sort of life she'd been living in thirty-seventh century London.

He wasn't ashamed of her for being a prostitute. It wasn't something he wished for anyone, especially not when it was a life they were forced into. He didn't know Clara's story, but he did know that she wouldn't have chosen this life if there were any better options to ensure her survival. His lip trembled with anger as he thought of the marks on her neck and the funny way she'd been walking, knowing that someone had done that to her after she'd left him that morning.

He felt angry that anyone would touch her in such a way, but his anger wasn't what filled him with shame. His shame stemmed from the jealousy he felt when he imagined another man's lips on her neck, his hands at her hips, his hips thrusting into hers.

They used her. That was the arrangement, but her consent didn't make it any better, any less dehumanising or barbaric. He heard her pull back the shower curtain and turn off the water, and when she stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a yellow cotton dress with her long hair falling in damp waves down her back, he couldn't help but smile. He was leaning against the stove/oven/microwave hybrid, which was rather small and out-dated for this time period. He gave it a little kick with his shoe.

"Must be rubbish for soufflés."

She paused by her wardrobe, where she'd bent forward to retrieve a large duffel bag to stuff with her belongings. "How did you know—"

He heaved a sigh and removed the ice pack from his face, tossing it in the sink. "It's a long flight to the North Pole. I'll explain everything then."

She stood up straight, eyes taking him in as he stepped towards her. "Will I regret coming with you after I learn everything?"

"I hope not," he replied sincerely. "The only thing I can imagine you regretting would be choosing to remain here."

She stared at him for a long time before nodding. He could smell the fragrance of her shampoo and he thought about the night before when she'd pressed her body to his, caressing his mouth with hers and drawing moans from his lips.

He needed to stop thinking about that. They had a long journey ahead.


End file.
